.................. She is sketchinga sol key over her legsafter the rock,with a pencil of lustful ragelocking upthe partiture of desertin her blood.So this mystical maenad is curving the lighton the aquarella's level white,with the curves of her bust.I'm looking at her destiny in my cupas it is intersected darklywith the pleasure of the nightingale.Stirring the bitter coffeewith my beloved Pushkinhopefully to put the fire out,but ultimately I'm burned,charredat the tip of her styluswith a single question left:Who is that girl anywaythat can so simplydraw music?